Moonlight and Shadow
by SteerpikeSister
Summary: Eowyn recives a vision in the Mirror of Galadriel and sets out to find one she had previously thought long dead...Grima Wormtongue. Complete...i'm afraid it is very emotional towards the end, but believeable!
1. Prologue

Moonlight And Shadow  
  
Prologue  
  
The trees were laughing. It had been nearly six years since these woods had resonated with the sound of elven laughter, a sound that they had heard for centuries before the last exodus of the High Elves to the lands in the west. Eowyn paused amid her game of hide and seek with the children, her mind suddenly filled with milky memories of the past, veiled echoes that reached out to her across the years. Eldarion's laughter sounded natural here, mingling with the wood-noise, the rustling of the absent wind. The little half-elven boy's birthday was to be celebrated that afternoon, amid the ancient halls of Lothlorien, and every noble of importance had been invited, as well as those included in fond remembrance of times past. Eowyn, still unmarried despite the affections and promises of Faramir, for whom she had held only a passing fondness, had spent her time playing with the children for most of the festival. Eldarion, son of Aragorn and Arwen, her own little cousins Tyer and Thana, the young bearded dwarves of Gimli's kin and the Hobbit children of Sam's, Elenor and Dillon were like a junior fellowship, reminding her of all that had passed with the sight of their smiles. Today they had wandered far into the woods, wondering at the ruins and remnants of ancient buildings and graceful statues they found there, remnants from the last age, before the time of men. She should have known that this would be an easy game for Aragon's son. A half elf with a ranger's training; it would be hours before she caught him. As she walked, listening for his tinkling, childish laughter, she found herself in a glade of silence, where not even the birds sang, but were reverently hushed. In the centre stood a pedestal, and on it a deep, wide bowl. A small jar rested at its mossy feet, dappled in the sunlight coming from the gaps in the leafy canopy stretching far above. As she took a step nearer, she heard a voice in her head speak in tones of silver and cool water;  
  
"Be Careful, Shield maiden. Look into the Mirror if you wish, but have care. It will show you what your heart seeks..."  
  
Eowyn stopped, shocked. The Elven Queen who had once ruled these woods, now gone to the west, had possessed a fabled mirror that could show the future; The Mirror of Galadriel...Dare she look into it? Eowyn thought about what had transpired in her past. She had thought herself content until now. As the tendrils of doubt ensnared her, she wondered what it was her heart sought. What would she see...? More curious now than she had ever felt, Eowyn picked up the jar, disturbing the moss and other small plants than had grown all through the quiet glade, and pored the still clear, fresh water into the bowl, and looked deep into the water. When it had stilled, she instinctively touched it so the ripples spread out from its centre and watched as a vision unfolded before her.  
  
...A hunched figure, swathed in a grey cloak, its deep hood pulled down against a blizzard, sat astride a large black stallion, progressing slowly through a deep black forest...the same figure on horseback, plodding determinedly, looking hunched and tired, the horse thin and dull eyed, across a barren plain, with mountains that looked like clenched fists in the distance...a cave, where a man lay in front of a weak and pathetic fire, shivering and exhausted...a man...Grima...  
  
Eowyn looked up with a start as the little hobbit boy, Dillon, touched her arm. "Eowyn, why weren't you looking for us?" The Shield Maiden scooped up the tiny halfling and laughed, "I was looking for you, but I was distracted. Come now, help me seek the others." she said to the smiling child, but her eyes held the ice and snow of the times before the Great War, as her thoughts were bent on one she had once thought long dead.  
  
Upon returning later that afternoon to the camp the Rohirrim had set up beside the elven dwellings she returned the Prince, her cousins, the dwarves and two "quarterlings" to their parents and made preparations for the nights feast. She worked with the women who were preparing the nights feast for a while, as she was loath to feel useless, but returned to her tent in good time to dress. While her handmaiden poured away her bathwater and tidied up the detritus of dressing, Eowyn donned her silver gown with its long, draping sleeves and white lace bodice and brushed out her long fair hair, its light colour more like moonlight than the usual golden sunlight of the Ridermark. Her Uncle Theoden had always called her "his dove-child" because of her hair. She remembered Wormtongue had said it was spun silver. He had loved her hair... He had loved her... 


	2. In which our Heroine Prepares to leave h...

Chapter one  
  
In which our Heroine prepares to leave her home.  
  
In the months that passed Eowyn thought on the vision she had received almost constantly. Grima was Alive! She remembered him before his fall into Sauraman's power, the intelligent and haughty Grima whose skill with words had impressed her Uncle, and the Wormtongue he had become.  
  
His wit and mental prowess alone had been responsible for the numerous changes and treaties that had made life so much better for the young noblewoman. As her homeland grew prosperous she was given as many baubles and trinkets thought enough to appease a pouting and petulant young woman who had formally to be content with cast off's and hand-downs.  
  
She thought of his arrival, an emissary from the Northlands, persuaded to stay as advisor to the King of Rohan. His dark hair and pale skin had made him stand out amongst the fair-haired peoples of the Ridermark, as his mind had stood out amongst their backward traditions and ways. Eowyn was but seven summers old when he had come to them.  
  
She almost smiled, thinking of when Theoden had given her a horse two years before she was officially old enough, of how Wormtongue had led her to the stables and helped her choose from the newly trained colts in the pens, how he had helped her into the saddle for the first time, Theoden looking on from his window.  
  
He had watched her grow up, she realised. He had always been in the background to offer advice, and told stories by the fire in the great hall, in winter when the Citadel was snowed in. the wooden halls had echoed with his footfalls and rung with his laughter...  
  
Then the dark times had come, with the rising of the Dark Lord in the east, and what she believed was his lust, for her and for power had caused him to turn to evil and the White Wizard. His advice turned sour, he poisoned their good King's thoughts against his loving family and caused the good men and women of Rohan to live in tainted times, putrid with unkempt and unseen vileness.  
  
He had tainted her memories as well, she realised. She had not thought of the good fortune he had brought, of the good times, until prompted by the vision she had seen in the Mirror. But that did not matter now, she knew. His betrayal had overshadowed his achievements. He was all that was evil and turned, as the worm they had named him.  
  
The fair Shield Maiden felt she had no other recourse but to seek him out, or at least, ascertain that he was indeed deceased. She knew what her heart sought; the Death of Grima Wormtongue. Upon her return to Edoras she sought out her brother, who ruled now that her uncle was dead, and spoke to him of the vision what had been troubling her.  
  
"He is alive." Eowyn said, steadfast, after explaining why she felt she must investigate the matter of Grima's death.  
  
"He was killed in the Shire, Eowyn. The Hobbits have no reason to deceive us." said Eomer. "And what does it matter? He would not trouble us now." The Golden Halls echoed with the voice of its King, "Sister, come! Be as you once were. I had thought your heart lifted, but for the death of our Father-Brother. Do you mourn for him again?" "No, my Brother. Though his absence pains me." Eowyn winced at this understatement. Her Uncle's death had left her miserable for so long that only these past few years could she bear to hear his name spoken without seeing him in her mind on the terrible battlefield of her memory. His absence was like the world without the sun, as he had been in her life.  
  
"Then what hath caused this melancholy? These past few years have seen you bright and shining, and I had hoped you had found happiness at last. You seem the Ice Maiden of yore once again." The handsome man smiled absently at his flaxen haired ward. Eowyn missed Theoden, the strong and considerate ruler, more than ever now. The crown rested so lightly upon her brother's brow that she wondered whether he had given any serious thought to anything since his coronation. He seemed content to dismiss her fears and ignore her warnings in favour of fighting and carousing. What would become of Rohan, she wondered, despairing, with such a man as its king?  
  
"And so they shall call me Ice-Maiden again, if that is what must be." She sighed. "I am thoughtful, my King, and it is a dark spell my errant thoughts weave for me." "What would put your mind to rest, my Sister?" Said Eomer indulgently. He remembered the coldness his sister had held those years ago, and he had rejoiced at her seeming to thaw in this peacetime. But when he looked in her eyes he saw they had once again turned cold, blue as the heavens in midwinter, cold as the killing frost of early spring.  
  
"It would ease my mind to leave here and journey elsewhere, my King- Brother. I would visit Legolas Greenleaf, who bore the tale of the Scouring of the Shire hence to us. I want to question him further." She said. Eomer-King acquiesced to this wish, hoping in his warrior's heart that his Sister would find some happiness among the Wood Elves, and forget this strange vision that had obsessed her these past months. He hoped she would be back by the winter, he told her kindly, as Edoras was often snowed in by yule time, and the celebration would be lonely without her to sit by his side.  
  
Eowyn repaired to her chambers and begun preparations to leave for Mirkwood. As she gathered her belongings and deliberated what to leave and what to take, her Handmaiden entered her room and approached her quietly. "What is it, Thalie?" she asked vaguely. "My Lady, do you go alone to the Elf Wood?" she asked timidly. Thalie was a sturdy suntanned girl of barely fifteen summers, but had served Eowyn for three of them, and had ridden hard with her Mistress on many such trips in the past, and was used to her mistress's distaste for unnecessary chatter and her coldness of manner. Eowyn knew that her servant's intention was to ask to accompany her on this journey, for as a child she had been at the Battle of Helms Deep, and had greatly admired the fighting of the elves. Eowyn knew she carried a lock of elven hair in her purse even now; a souvenir that was greatly admired in the servant halls, or so she had told her Mistress. "Are you wanting to come, Thalie?" Eowyn asked disinterestedly, "Well, I suppose you may, for I should not relish the journey alone with only the company of the Horseman my Brother-King will surely require that I take as escort." "My Lady, it is not proper for one of such high birth to travel without a retinue." Thalie said. "Then you and the oaf will have to suffice. We go to the elves, and while they study ceremony amongst themselves, I doubt they will think any ill of our party." "Very well Mistress." Said the girl, grinning widely at the thought of seeing the elves again.  
  
That night Eowyn went down to the Royal Stables, to see her horses. The sleek animals regarded her absently, used to the noblewoman's presence. She looked them over carefully, finally deciding to take her favourite, a white mare called Mischa. As she gave her an extra helping of oats, she heard a whine come from the far end of the stables, beyond the royal boxes. Approaching warily, it was a pitiful sight she saw. A black stallion had been cruelly tied up; its harness left upon it so it got no rest and had nothing but dirty, dry straw in its manger. Eowyn was infuriated by this and untied the animal, taking off its harness and talked to it, soothingly. It seemed clear that this noble beast had been mistreated for some time, judging by the scars it bore, and how it shrank from her touch, anticipating a beating. Although it was late, she stalked up to the stable rooms in a high temper, dragging the stable boy out of the tack room by his scruffy ear and pulling him to where the black stallion lay, gratefully resting. "Do you see this?" Eowyn yelled at the boy, "If I see this ill treatment of any horse in the Ridermark I will hold you accountable! How dare you do this to a beast worth more than you are?" she spat. "But...but Mistress..." the terrified boy stammered, "its Wormtongue's horse!" Eowyn sent the boy back to the stables hobbling stiffly from a beating with a paddle. Wormtongue's horse, was it? She looked at the dozing stallion. She should have known it was, since no one else had wanted a black beast but him. She remembered when it had been foaled, not long after she had had thirteen summers. The stablemen had offered the young black colt to anyone who wanted him, but none did. "Unlucky!" they said. No room for anything darker than dun in the Mark. They had been about to cast the unfortunate animal out into the wild, but Eowyn, witnessing this unnecessary cruelty, had ran into the citadel in search of someone who could make them stop, and ran headlong into Grima, bowling him over. He had helped the tearful child to her feet, laughing, dusted her off and listened carefully to her stammered tale of woe. "Please, Councillor Grima! The poor thing's just different!" she had gasped, distraught. "They will not listen to me!" "Come then, Mistress, and we shall see what we can do to help this equine cuckoo!" He had strode down the hill, haughty and determined, with his little Mistress holding his hand, drying her tears on her long sleeves. "Hold, Horseman!" he had cried out to the stablemen, about to push the colt into the wasteland. "I'll take that horse from you!" "Councillor," the brutish stableman had said "'Tis unlucky to ride a black. Are you sure you want it?" "Do you question the words of the King's Advisor, stableman?" Grima had said haughtily. The men returned to their work without another word, leaving Grima and Eowyn to lead the little black escapee to the stables, where Grima confided in the little girl that he hadn't the slightest idea about looking after horses. Eowyn remembered how funny she had thought it that he needed her help to stable the colt. They had spent that afternoon most pleasantly looking after the animal, that Grima had decided to call "Dagger".  
  
"Poor Dagger," she thought, stroking his velvety nose. "Who else would take you but me?" the Shield Maiden led the tired animal to her personal box and settled him amongst her own horses, who's affectionate nibbles he bore with good grace. The horse had no choice of owner had been, and did not deserve the abuse it had received. It troubled her to think that her own people, who's lives revolved around the care and tending of horses could commit such acts upon a blameless animal. She believed that this was another symptom of the inadequacies of her brother's rule. Theoden would never have allowed such a thing to happen. She left the Stables to retire to her own chambers, her mind little more at ease that it had previously been.  
  
In the end her Brother ordered she take two riders, as well as an ambassador and the handmaiden Thalie. Surly and Sulky, as she thought of horsemen, did naught but grunt and tend their horses for most of the day spent not riding, although they did make themselves useful when evening came and it was time to set up camp for the night. As they busied themselves constructing a tent for Eowyn and Thalie, the ambassador, Rayment as he called himself, told them long-winded and self- important tales of his training in Gondor. Eowyn feigned attention, despairing of her company. Instead she let her thoughts lead her back through her life, dwelling on the times Her uncle had looked upon her with favour. As she and her brother had grown up without parents, Eowyn had looked to Theoden as a Father. As a child she had run wild, almost unattended, allowed to run about as she liked, until the Northlander, Grima son of Galmod had come to join their court. At her young age she did not understand that she had become as unruly and rough as a boy-child, but when Grima told the King of her wildness he had put an end to her freedom, to make her into a Lady, he had told her. She had always been ruled by her King, and unhappily submitted to his orders concerning her upbringing. Then she had not appreciated what he had done for her, but looking back she was glad of it, for she had nurtured her mind under Grima's tutelage, and knew something of a world beyond the Realm of the Horse-Lords.  
  
As night drew in the party withdrew to their tents and Eowyn slept, comforted in her dreams, where the sun shone always and her King was with her once more.  
  
In the light of dawn they awakened to a crisp morning, heralding as it ever did, the approach of autumn with its lingering breath. It had been a long ride, but they had made good progress and were in sight of Fangorn Forest within a week of leaving Meldused. The party crossed the river Entwash and made for the Field of Celebrant, and thence in turn would they reach the woods of Lothlorien, which was uninhabited now, as the King's family and guests were long since returned to their homes in all corners of Middle Earth, but none dared enter the old elven city uninvited lest they faced the King's wrath. Although, Eowyn considered, the penalty would not be so great for her, a friend of both the King and his wife, she would not wittingly bring strangers into that bright haven without its owner's knowledge, and so they skirted its edge.  
  
All these weeks of travelling had not changed Eowyn's mind about what she thought of as her mission. The vision she saw in the fabled Mirror was true, she knew in her heart. Grima son of Galmod was alive, and should be brought to justice. That he lived galled her, that he prospered more so. She fancied in her idle moments that this was why she had found no rest; that the war was not truly over till the last vestiges of its evil were scoured from Middle Earth. When she thought of him, lying shivering in a cave somewhere on some mountain her breath halted and a strange feeling swirled in her breast; revulsion, she supposed. Yet she could never think of him now and not think, however briefly, of how he had watched her stalk the Halls of Edoras, how her every movement entranced him like a snake. In the years of her youth she had been alone most often, left to do those things considered Lady-like, such as embroidery or tending flowers, but there were no other noble ladies to guide her, and had no cloth to embroider, nor seeds to grow. And so she had grown insular, she knew now. Stalking the halls and wandering the citadel restlessly, preferring the dusty books in the little library to real people, and began to frost over, like a flower in the snow without anyone to nurture warmth in her heart.  
  
It had been Grima who had first called her Ice Maiden, as if to point out the flaws in her character for everyone to see. The Lady Frost, Mistress Coldheart, they called her.... But Her hands were not the only ones cool to the touch... She shivered in the warmth of the fire. "Are you all right, Mistress?" enquired her handmaiden, concern showing on her young face. "I am fine, Thalie. Just a slight chill." Eowyn replied, reflecting upon the understatement of her words. She was chilled to the bone, and it seemed had always been so. "Well, I'll put another log on the fire, at any rate." As she watched the girl try and raise the fire, she wondered what it would take to thaw her heart, to make her blood run warm... 


	3. in which our Heroine recives another vis...

Chapter Two  
  
In which our Heroine receives another vision.  
  
The Ranger had followed the trail long enough this day. The beast and its rider had travelled slowly, and so should not be too far ahead when first light came. The breemen had sent to Rivendell for a Kingsman, as the Rangers were now known, to track a missing horse, but as soon as he scouted the area of its disappearance he had found its tracks, and knew it had a rider. A tall yet gaunt man, he thought, limping a little, stumbling. It was a wonder he had made it this far. The horse-thief had travelled slowly yet steadily to the Forodwaith, the plains before the realm of Angmar. A desolate, empty place in the lost realms, known as the spine of middle earth. The ranger travelled light, surviving on what sustenance he could find in the wilderness, which for a ranger was enough to feed three. It took him more than a year to reach Mount Gundabad, on foot as he was, to see again the start of the Grey Mountains that were as far as any had travelled and survived, except the rangers and the elves. By now, he realised, the Breelanders would have given him up for dead or lost, as he followed the trail now for his own pleasure. He was surprised that the Horse Thief had gotten this far in such inhospitable territory. He had learned much about the identity of his quarry from the tracks he left, not seeming to care if they showed in the deep snow. He had left such items behind on the way to show that he had indeed come from the shire, his store of Bree-made foodstuffs must be running low, as he had made several attempts, more unsuccessful than he would have wished no doubt, to catch fish in the mountain streams or shoot wild birds. He knew that he had dark, long hair, and wore dark garments. The Kingsman rested lightly before setting off at dawn. He should catch the thief soon, if he was lucky.  
  
Eowyn shifted in her sleep as she lay in her tent, the soft breathing of her handmaiden beside her, the loud snores of the Riders mingling with the horses' snorts outside, the ambassador silent for once, on watch. The wind blew from Lothlorien, over the river Umlight and carried with it a droplet of water from the Witch-Queen's Mirror, to find Eowyn as she drifted in her dreamless sleep...  
  
Chilled to the bone, but still going on...trudging through bare stone valleys ...on and on...to the mountains, tall, jagged and black, raised like fists of defiance on the horizon...falling into deep snow...cold...blackness...  
  
Eowyn started awake. She felt the snow around her, felt it chill her bones, and yet...it had been him she had sensed, she was certain! Could it have been Grima's death she had witnessed? No...he had been filled with determination, she felt it. She felt sure he was alive. Surely he was? She hoped with all her heart that he was alive... Until she realised what she had wished, and sank down to lie troubled and awake until dawn, and the last leg of their journey. They would cross the great river Anduin on hastily constructed rafts on the morrow, which would put them in sight of Mirkwood, home of the Wood Elves. Rhovanion was a strange, dark country. Mirkwood itself had once been a stronghold of the Dark Lord while he gathered strength to go back to Mordor, under the guise of a necromancer; one of the lords of the dead, and harmless to the living. The trees had been tainted by the evil presence, and even now rose silent and forbidding, the shadows clinging to their limbs, foul insects and spiders roamed free in its depths. There was but one path through it, or there had been in older times. Now the Wood elves patrolled the entire Wood, under the command of their Captain, Prince Legolas. It was one of his command that Eowyn hoped to reach, for their intentions would surely grant them safe passage, if not an escort directly to the Elf King's Palace.  
  
Grima pulled his cloak tighter around his gaunt yet toughening body. A year of trudging across plains and through mountains had brought new strength to his lithe and sinuous frame. Once they had called him Snake; in a scarce moment of rest he reflected upon how true that now was. He felt a strange empathy for the solitary predator; his thoughts bent solely on survival, except for those moments of penance, when he thought of hair the colour of moonlight, of feminine laughter in golden halls...of ice cold eyes that watched his as he in turn watched hers... of what had been promised to him, if he surrendered his mind to madness... He had wound his way here from the Shire, that blasted country in which he had lived in hiding for so long. He remembers the stinks of Bree along with how those putrid odours had clung to him, and thought with what in any other mind could be called pleasure, at his new solitary existence. Who would have thought one could survive three arrows in the back? And hide while his wounds healed, under their very noses? He almost laughed. Instead, his lips curled into a wry smile as he thought again of how he had escaped, and made his way here. And soon he would be home...would they know him there? He doubted that his family survived. It was fortunate that none now lived who knew of his origins in the Rhunlands. It was a long and arduous journey, but where else could he go? To enter any town from the Shire to Mordor would result in immediate death. But there in the Northlands at least he would belong, in however a twisted and strange manner. There he might find peace...  
  
The journey through Mirkwood was one Eowyn did not care to repeat. The trees lent in oppressively so that the sky could not be seen, and all seemed dark and malevolent. They progressed so slowly that she was uncertain whether they had rode any further at all. Eowyn coped well, although she was uncomfortable in such company and surroundings, but her handmaiden seemed distraught and hunched low on her saddle, wrapped in her cloak. When they camped by night she would huddle close to the fire, and beg her Mistress in a timid whisper to recount what elf-lore she knew, to lighten her spirit. This Eowyn did, although unsure as to what she could tell the girl that would soothe her.  
  
As the night drew in Eowyn thought once more about the man she sought. Why was she so bent on finding him? She did not understand. The vision in the mirror of Galadriel had unnerved her, yet seemed as if it was nevertheless her natural recourse to seek Grima out, but what then? To kill him? Hatred swelled in her breast. The evil worm had killed her King, caused the deaths of hundreds of good men and women. Of course she would kill him! He deserved no less. Again she could not rest, her dark thoughts tormenting her. She had thought Grima dead all this time, and remembered how her heart had leaped in her chest when she learned he lived still. How long had he been travelling? What hardships had he endured? She did not know where he was, or where he was going. The mountains she saw, she realised, could be the key. She had felt his determination to reach them, at whatever cost. Maybe the Elves would know what mountains they were. Eowyn slept fitfully that night, haunted by the ghosts of long forgotten dreams. 


	4. in which our Heroine meets with the Wood...

Chapter Three  
  
In which our Heroine meets with the Wood Elves.  
  
Grima dreamed of hair the colour of moonlight soft to the touch and shimmering laughter; a delight to hear. A young girl dancing on a snow covered balcony, bent over an ancient book in a dusty library, tending a black horse. Then she seemed to grow right before his eyes into the most beautiful creature he had ever known. Pale and perfect. Eowyn. Then the blackness came and cut her down, killed her... Grima awoke, screaming. Another nightmare. They plagued him almost constantly, asleep or awake. In the worst Eowyn came to him, kissed him tenderly, and all the love he had for her gushed out of him along with his blood, as she stood over him laughing, a dagger in her slender grasp, a killing frost in her eyes. Was she yet living? He did not know. All that he knew was that Saurman and the Dark Lord had been defeated, and all that had once been wasteland was now made green with elven magic. That Gondor once more had a king he knew, had heard it discussed by the men in Bree, huddled by the stunted fire of a hovel that passed for an inn, in that bitterly cold winter that followed the Great War. No news of Rohan had he heard, nor dared ask, for fear of discovery. He had sat in that dark corner and hid from the candlelight for fear of enquiry and made no attempt at conversation. Once or twice the innkeeper wanted paying, and Grima appeased him with some of his meagre store of gold. Not long after his arrival he seemed to have acquired a nickname, one he found he liked. Here they called him Strider, and apparently took his solitary ways and dishevelled appearance as evidence of his being a Ranger. After a time he accepted this with good grace, and soon fell into the role they had provided him. As "Strider", whom he soon found out was a surly and secretive individual, a demeanour that suited his own current temperament, he was known in Bree and by keeping "in character" he was able to avoid detection for the whole of that winter. He felt indebted to whatever strange god or goddess guided his faltering steps that the true "Strider" did not see fit to materialize in Bree during his stay in the dismal and wretched nest of hovels. However, it was to be his last exercise in manipulation, for as soon as the nights grew warmer he had gathered some provisions and made off with a black horse he had found in the Stable yard, leaving some money behind in recompense. When the animal died during the year it took to reach the Iron Hills, he did not blame it; it had been a long and arduous journey, and Grima felt that his inexperience in dealing with the equine breed had led to its untimely death. He was much saddened by its demise, for it had been company of a sort, soothing and trusting, and oft times his salvation when his mind plumbed the depths of darkness and made him ponder his past with despair. Shouldering his makeshift pack he said a small prayer over the animal that had reminded him so much of his own horse, Dagger, that he had left behind when he had been banished from Rohan. For a fleeting moment, he thought upon its fate, and hoped the Rohirrim had not been unkind to it. Thinking of Dagger led him to think of Eowyn once again; how she had once ran to one dark cuckoo to save another, and how she had not realised how like that dark horse he had been. Little doubt she hated him now. And was just in her hatred, he admitted to himself, wiping the cold sweat of nightmare from his brow. How could he have thought she could want him? Even after all those little intimacies he had stored in his heart like pearls on a necklace, threading each one, whole and perfect, until the string was wrenched from his grasp by the Evil Wizard, forever tainting him with his lies and his promises. She would not remember how he doted on her, beyond his station as a mere advisor. But even the slightest whisper of her voice, the merest shadow of her presence had lifted his heart from his dark imaginings and made life among the bestial and backward Rohirrim bearable. She may not have known it, but the time when he had first come to Edoras, seeking help for the people of the Rhun against the rising numbers of evil minions of Mordor who continually ravaged the land he loved, he had betrayed them, because of her. He had hidden his distaste well, he thought. The men of the Mark had thought his aversion for their coarse, dung-clad land the affectations of a foreigner, as indeed he was. In truth, he had loathed his existence among them, and remained only to pass on what riches he could to his people, whom he had left so abruptly. The messengers he had sent gave him little news when they returned, and the hope that he was making life better for his village, and his family. He had not intended to stay long in the fabled Citadel; just long enough to see if aid could be secured for his ravaged land. Apparently the great Theoden-King did not think the lives of so many people to be worth the trouble. When the King offered him a place as his advisor, recognising his skill with words but taking no note of the young man's persuasive arguments, he intended to refuse. But when the young Niece of the king, the orphan in ill-fitting garments, tumbling in from the stables with straw in her silver hair and a sweet smile on her dirty face, took his cold hand and asked him to stay and play with her, he looked at her and thought how many improvements he could make in this land, and persuaded himself that he could do more good for his people by staying in Rohan than by going on to plead with the Steward of Gondor, as he had intended. When Saurman first tempted him with wealth, he had thought upon his proposal, and refused. When he offered him Eowyn, he did not think upon it but refused at once. She he would not take against her will, nor by enchantment, though it galled him that the Wizard had found his weaknesses so rapidly. What was then offered him had converted him almost without resistance; the Dominion of the Rhun. If that land were his, if he were king of the Inland Sea, he would be equal in rank to King Theoden, of stature enough to sue for Eowyn's hand unchallenged, and could protect his people from the pillaging and destruction wreaked upon them by their dark neighbour to the south. But it was all a lie. Grima cried, his tears turning to ice upon his cheeks, quickly brushed away by the coarse cloth of his cloak. He had been tricked most cruelly, and for all his mental agility had let his love for Eowyn, the sweet girl he cherished above all else; led him to more and ever darker betrayals. He wept profusely over his foolish and dashed desires, thwarted by his manipulating mind and accursed love. He had but little recourse now but to go back to the Rhunland and survey the damage wreaked in what was no doubt a bloody and horrific massacre. Maybe his family had survived, but he did not hold out much hope for that. Maybe, if any yet lived in what he expected to be a desolate waste where the Erhundai had once resided, one might yet remember him. Not that they would have need of an advisor, he thought sardonicaly. Instead, he intended to take up his family's office and seek to mend what he had helped bring about. He had no other way to remunerate for his sins...  
  
As Eowyn's party prepared to spent their third night under the canopy of the aptly named Mirkwood, An Elven archer appeared in the circle of firelight, the bright flames casting dark and deceitful shadows on what in daylight would be a welcome sight. "What is your business in the Woodland realm?" he demanded arrogantly. Eowyn rose imperiously from her place by the fire and spoke to the archer in what little Elvish she had been taught by Arwen. "Sinl'e sond'ai Eowyn, mellonamin, sh'mellna Arwen sai Elrond, Su'la Elesser! Sawi'sta lo'utael Legolas, du Sa'haptine?" The haughty archer looked astonished at Eowyn's greeting, and bowed to her on bended knee before replying; "My Lady Eowyn, I shall return to you with our Captain in good time." And stepped out of the firelight and could be seen no more by mortal eyes. When the Elf left, the handmaid Thalie let out the breath she had been holding and sighed heavily. Eowyn looked upon her almost warmly and drew her nearer, taking her hand. "Are you yet satisfied?" she said, mildly amused by her handmaiden's regard for the Elven race. "We shall see more of the Elves in a short while, and you may gather more souvenirs if you wish." She said derisively, "Let us prepare for their return." As they packed up their camp, leaving no evidence that they were here that none but a ranger could tell of their passing, the diplomat spoke up, as he had wont to do, of his purpose in joining her party. "I should be leaving you soon, My Lady," he said eagerly, "I hope to serve my King and Country well in this endeavour." Eowyn forced a small smile for the pompous official. "I an sure you will do your best, Rayment." She said, her words carefully chosen so as not to dishearten the young man, although she had little hope for his mission. She knew that the Wood Elves were an insular folk, preferring to keep out of the matters of men, especially since their brethren, the High Elves, had departed Middle Earth, and seeking to gain their friendship would be useless. When the young archer returned with his Captain, Eowyn held out her hands to him and embraced Legolas Greenleaf as the old friend he was. "Legolas, you have not changed since last we met." The Shieldmaiden said formally; an accustomed if clichéd greeting to an elven friend. "But you, my lady, do look fairer still." Legolas replied, his astute senses noting her uncomfortable manner and halting, unfamiliar conduct. "I had heard you attended Eldarion's Celebration last season. Fares he not well?" "Indeed he does, Mellonamin. It was unfortunate that you could not be spared your duties to attend." "These woods do not walk themselves, my Lady. But I did have the good fortune to be present at the child's Sindarin ceremony at his recognition earlier this year." The event the Captain spoke of had been the most important festival in middle earth, Gondor's acceptance of a Half-Elf as their Prince, and his recognition in the line of Numenor and Elrond, himself Half-Elven. As these formalities had been completed, Eowyn introduced her party, her escorts silent, the ambassador effusive and vociferous, and her handmaid blushing furiously as she bobbed a curtsey. It was arranged that Eowyn and her party travel to the city of the Wood Elves, and Eowyn hoped to take some pleasure in their company, so different as it was from the Rohirrim. Eowyn felt pained by so much unwanted attention that required her to act other than how she felt, but knew that it was a fleeting pain and she would soon be allowed to lapse back into her accustomed manner. When a few days had passed, Eowyn spoke with Legolas again and at length, divining what she could of the account of Grima's demise, as it came second hand. That Grima had killed the evil Wizard Saurman with his own hand, she had not known, and proved a revelation in her feelings, such as they were, concerning Grima. The description was not one she cared to repeat, but played itself over in her dreams long afterward. She only voiced one of her multitude of thoughts upon the matter, that she would have done the same, had it been she in that situation. As it had long been assumed that Wormtongue was dead, Eowyn was not eager to let many know of her vision, except the few who may help her in her quest. At worst such knowledge could cause another war, and at best she might be thought mad. Therefore she was circumspect as to her reasons for her journey, intending to tell only Legolas of her true intentions when she was sure their voices could not be overheard. When at last they could arrange to meet alone, Eowyn told the handsome Captain of her vision, and her desire to seek Grima out. The Elf Prince answered as she had anticipated he would, waiting not for council beyond his years but deciding swiftly and resolutely. "I shall accompany you, my Lady, if you would wish it of me." "That would be wonderful." Eowyn replied with a smile, creating the illusion, at least on her part, of a friendly atmosphere. "I had intended to ask you, as I'm sure that you would be worth ten of my brother's horsemen on a journey such as this." Legolas laughed, "My thanks to you, my Lady. But there could be another you might wish to bring with us. We have amongst our midst a Ranger named Mirghast, a Kingsman, who has been lately trailing a horse thief from the Shire. If your tale is right then the man he has been tracking could be Wormtongue himself." "What indication do you have of this?" she said coldly, mistrustful. "From what he has told me, and as the man bears the seal of the King of Gondor; I have no reason to disbelieve him." "We shall see. Very well, we should consult him at least. How fairs he?" "Not well, my Lady. When our guards found him he was wandering on the edge of the woods in a fever; his affliction has since passed, but he needs some time to recover. As soon as he is strong enough I will let you know." The Elf left with a bow, leaving Eowyn to ponder his words.  
  
And so the weeks passed none too quickly for the Lady of Rohan. Rayment, the obsequious ambassador, had made himself at home and begun his mission by attempting to talk to the Elf King, and being refused audience. Her two Horsemen escorts elected to return to Edoras, there being no need for horses in these dense woods, and that among the best archers in Middle Earth; their Lady was well protected. Eowyn was glad of this, as their uncouth grunting had been irritating to her ears, more used to silence and whispers. Eowyn's servant girl declined to leave her Mistress, claiming maidenly devotion, but in reality, Eowyn suspected harshly, she wished to remain to continue her friendship with an Elven guardsman she had been keeping much company with. For most of the time, Eowyn found to her pleasure, she was left alone. As visiting Royalty, she was entitled to impose upon another noble, and she was sure the Elves did not need any help from her, although she would have been glad to be useful. Instead she felt she was expected to wear her best long sleeved gowns and promenade around the city looking pretty, as the other Elven nobles did, or so it seemed. Eowyn suspected she could live out her life in the Elf King's halls and no one there would neither notice nor care. Prince Legolas had, she was told, been sent out on a border patrol and he would not be back for several weeks, and when she asked to see the Ranger she received nothing but confusion and blank looks. In her idleness she contemplated what lay ahead. After these weeks of nothingness, she longed to be once again on her way, but had no idea of where to search. The open road called to her, through the oppressive, claustrophobic trees, its song one she understood well. To be alone once more was what she yearned for, to not have to simulate feeling, and be true to the wind, however biting and coldly it greeted her. To find Grima was what she wanted, she knew. She was determined to reach him, find him and talk to him. To find out why he had betrayed her. Why he had left her...Eowyn shook herself, her thoughts becoming more indicative of personal feelings, ones that would never see the light of day. He was to be brought to justice, the last remnant of ancient evil. How could the man who had been so prominent in her childhood memories become so utterly evil? She did not know, but found herself hoping that he repented his evil ways. If he showed no remorse at his past, she would cut him down where he stood. If he repented, then...again she became muddled in her thoughts. Would she let him live, even then? So much death and violence had come to pass...could she bear more of it, by her own hand? Eowyn resolved to talk to Legolas about her errant thoughts when at length he returned, however much it pained her to reveal her feelings to one who might judge her ill. This winter in the Mirkwood left her with much time for thought, and at length she wondered how her people faired back in Rohan, whose open wilds she craved. 


	5. in which our Heroine sets out once again

Chapter four  
  
In which our Heroine sets out once again  
  
Yet another harsh winter, Grima reflected from his makeshift shelter. The winds blew cold here, he thought, as cold as the winds of Rhun. He huddled closer to the fire, shivering. It was bearable, he supposed. He had decided to tarry only a little while before pressing on, through the worst of the weather. After that, only the last lengths past the dwarf infested Lonely Mountain and it's equally overrun village of Dale stood between him and his homeland. He was almost there, and he felt daunted by its nearness, the termination of his journey, and the confrontation with all that he had abandoned.  
  
Soon it would be time for the Snake to shed its skin, and try and become that what he once was, should have been, in another life.  
  
He would take up his family's office, if none were still living. There would be people living there still, he knew. The Rhunland bred a hardy and indomitable people, despite their seeming frailty. For all his paleness and slight, angular body, he shared their steely determination to survive, to succeed, and these past years of hardship had brought him new strength. He had walked and ridden for miles each day, stopping only to sleep and had endured seemingly all Middle earth could throw at him.  
  
It was his hatred for Saurman that had kept him going, he knew. The Evil Wizard had died by his own dagger, that he kept even now by his side, and thoughts of the Wizard's demise alone was his solace, for even thoughts of Eowyn were tinged with pain, and were more a penance than a comfort. As the purple night drew in, Grima cried, his thoughts of his just punishment, this endless tearing maelstrom in his mind, alone for so long in the wilderness, so alone that he felt as if he might be the only man alive in the world.  
  
It was late spring before Legolas returned from his border patrols. Eowyn felt sure that this was a subtle punishment for his fraternising with humans, as the Elf King was known for his narrow-minded attitudes and would not have approved of his youngest son planning to leave his lands once again in the company of a southern noblewoman. As soon as he had returned, Eowyn sought him out and spoke to him again about her vision and the nature of her feelings, and was relived when he listened patiently and did not scorn her, as a human would have done. The Shield maiden was confident that the Elven race was more sensitive than others when it came to such delicate things as feelings and emotions, things she had had little experience of since her childhood. Legolas took her to an empty glade and sat with her beneath the boughs of a strong old oak tree and asked her what she had left out of her tale when she had told it last. "If you do not know why you seek him, you do not know what you will do when you find him." He said, showing wisdom beyond his age. "That is true enough, Mellonamin." Eowyn said with a sigh, "I have though upon my predicament many times, but cannot reach a conclusion." "Tell me," the Elf Prince asked thoughtfully, "how have you felt since you learned of Wormtongue's escape?" he looked at her quizzically, and Eowyn could see that he had formed an idea. "Strange," she answered truthfully, "I can't seem to stop thinking about him, how he had been so trusted by my King before the war. Whenever I dwell on my past involvement with him, I get this strange feeling in my throat, as if I should cough, but it doesn't go away...a twisting, breathless feeling. I don't think its something I have ever felt before." Legolas looked at her as if appraising her, as if he had never seen her before. "How would you want him to be when you meet him again?" "I should like to find him repentant. I want him to regret the atrocities he helped cause." She said resolutely. "If not, then I shall kill him with my own hand." "And what if he is not? What if he laughs when you approach him and insults you?" the Elf said. Eowyn gave a little gasp at this question and replied quite breathlessly. "Oh, my lord Grima would do no such thing! Grima had always... unless...." She stopped, searching for the right words, her hands clasped over her heart. Legolas appraised her answer, learning more from this unwitting answer than she could know. "If he is yet living, then it is certain that he still holds me in that high regard that he has always done. He would not insult me, unless his affection was all design." Eowyn said, amazed at the words she spoke, as she realised the implications of her words. She looked to Legolas for his interpretation. "Do you mean to imply that his regard for me was false?" she said. "It could be, my Lady. We do not know how long Saurman had him, how long he was a traitor to your country. It may be that even now, he travels east to Mordor, in search of a master to serve there." Eowyn spoke no more of her thoughts that day, the Elf's words concerning Grima going around and around in her head.  
  
Eowyn passed the next few weeks in a thought-filled daze, sending her handmaiden away to leave her in privacy as she assimilated the new feelings that her dialogue with Legolas had given her. In her brief moments of clear thought, Eowyn knew she had treated her servant girl poorly, and resolved to try and be more appreciative of her company in future, as scarce as that was, as Thalie seemed more content each day, and it would be difficult to convince her to leave Mirkwood, and the handsome guard she had taken up with. When eventually her mind cleared and she could accept the truth of her feelings, she found that preparations were already underway for their intended journey. All that remained was to find out where Grima had been headed. As the Kingsman had recovered sufficiently from his ailment, Eowyn questioned him as to what he had learned about the man he had followed from the Shire.  
From his description of a tall, thin man with black hair and a black cloak, she had concluded that the man could indeed be Grima Wormtongue, but it was still only a possibility. The mountains she described to him he recognised immediately as the Ered Michrin, the Grey Mountains, the Spine of Middle earth, where he had been tracking the man from the Shire before he fell ill. The other he suspected was the Lonely Mountain, a dwarven city in a once Dragon wasted plain. Beyond that, lay very little, save the inhospitable Rhunland, and the Inland Sea. Legolas had arranged for new Elf-Bred horses for their party, beautiful, noble creatures, with endurance and intelligence far surpassing that of normal beasts, he assured her. Eowyn almost spoke up in favour of the Beasts of her homeland, the meldused animals known to rescue their riders and carry them home if they fell, but wisely stopped herself, as such a speech might offend the noble Prince who had been so kind and generous to her. In their preparations, Eowyn noticed that Thalie had become sad, and she wondered what troubled her. Once she found her crying as she packed bundles of Lembas bread in a pannier, and The Noblewoman took her aside and persuaded her to tell what she was so upset about. "My Lady," she stuttered, "I have brought dishonour upon us." "How, in middle earth?" Eowyn asked, incredulously. The young girl looked down, ashamed. "I am with child." Eowyn's eyes opened wide in amazement. "Is it of the Guardsman you are so fond of?" she asked, knowing it to be true before she could reply. "It is Dathomir's babe, I am certain...there has been no other, my lady." She almost whispered before bursting into hot, fretful tears. Eowyn attempted to console her as best she could, promising her that she would make it right, she would solve her problem, and all would be well. When the girl lay sleeping in her chamber, Eowyn left to find Legolas, and tell him of this new development. She found him in the Guardhall, making merry with his fellow officers. She discreetly drew him away from the prying ears of the inquisitive guardsmen and told her tale as he listened in disbelief. "Your maid is with child by my Lieutenant Dathomir?" "It is certain. Is there a way...could he hold any real fondness for the girl?" "It may be so, my Lady. Dathomir is my cousin, and was ever a gallant and noble officer. I have not known him take up with anyone, elf or human before now, and as such he may be willing to save your maid from dishonour." "But how could such a thing be accomplished?" Eowyn asked eagerly. "I will talk with my cousin and find out his feelings. If he would be Husband to your Maid, then he shall come with us to Esgaroth, where I have a contingent of Elven military under my command. They are stationed there permanently, to defend the City upon the long lake, as part of a treaty between the Bardson, who rules the City, and my honoured Father. There I shall place him in command, and there he may live happily with your girl, and shall not come under much scrutiny by my authority." Eowyn smiled, relieved. If this guard were as noble as he claimed, there would be no doubt that he would honour his sweetheart. "That is a good arrangement. Then you must hurry, Mellonamin, and ask him. Thalie will make him a good wife, as I'm sure he already knows." She said gratefully, and left to lie by her Handmaid, to be sure of her not waking to fret alone.  
  
Within the week, with the gnarled trees beginning to be green and lush in their summer clothing, the merry band set off for Esgaroth, Eowyn cool in her thoughts and manner, her handmaid behind her driving a small cart that contained supplies for the journey, Legolas calm and commanding, his cheerful guard Dathomir riding at his side, glancing behind to smile at his Bride to be. The Kingsman rode behind, silent and vigilant.  
  
Upon reaching Esgaroth Legolas placed the Gallant Dathomir in command of his troops, and found an official who married the happy pair. After finding them a place to live and making sure they did not want for any necessity, Eowyn tried almost successfully to shed her coldness once in private with the girl who had shared a great part of her life, and who had not once complained of her mistresses callous and unfeeling treatment. She held the young woman close and wished her joy, leaving her with a parting gift of a jewelled pendant she knew the girl admired, a more eloquent expression of her feelings than she knew how to give.  
  
The next day, the Elf Prince and the Shield Maiden left the City, their cart pulled behind them by an Elven horse that needed no instruction, but would follow unless commanded otherwise. Their parting was not a sad one, and there were many promises on either side to return again sometime.  
  
Eowyn was sad, however, and felt it as the night drew in, sitting around a fire, as the Ranger constructed shelters for them all. The tales Legolas told, elven stories about the stars and how they got their names, would have delighted Thalie, and Eowyn missed her, as she lay sleepless in her tent-like shelter later, listening to the noise of the habitually or naturally silent, as the wind whistled across the barren plain. 


	6. in which our Heroine draws closer to her...

Chapter five  
  
In which our Heroine draws closer close to her destination  
  
Within the month, by the good graces of their elven steeds, Eowyn, Legolas and Mirghast reached the Grey Mountains, where they searched for any sign that someone had travelled the passes through the deep snow and jagged rocks that seemed to cover the entire land as far as the non-elven eye could see. Within another month, they had found the trail and followed it to the Withered Heath, then south to the Iron hills. In a journey that had taken almost two years, first north and now south, the Ranger estimated that the man they followed, if indeed he was who they sought, had travelled more than twice that distance, and was even now following the course of the great river Rhine that led to the Inland Sea, in the vastness of the mysterious Rhunland. That he would walk its course was undoubted. Only an Erhundai, as they called themselves, could have sailed that great rushing river in their strange boats, a mile or more from bank to bank and treacherously serpentine.  
  
Mirghast told them that he had only seen an Erhundai boatman just once, many years ago beside this very river, had glimpsed him from afar. Dark of hair and pale skin that no amount of sun could change, he had heard, he had watched with amazement as this one man had caught some of the biggest fish he had ever seen, and with a whip! Eowyn though it a fanciful tale, yet it was the first time the Ranger had spoken voluntarily, and she could not but wonder what he thought of her mission. Did he think her a fragile female, she wondered? She knew that Legolas, who had fought alongside her, knew she was not. Several times she had found the Kingsman looking at her oddly, and could not fathom what his interest could be. The long journey had not changed her, she mused, as her brother had so obviously hoped. She knew herself to be the Ice Maiden now more than ever. She had looked inside herself many times on this journey and found her heart seemed black and carved from ice, and wondered if it had shown so much when the King Elessar had first met her. She had liked Aragorn very much, she knew, but had not known then that he had perceived her as ill tempered and changeable as the weather of her homeland, as she had thawed for him at times, yet chilled at others. The same conclusion had been reached by Faramir, to whom she had promised herself after Aragorn had refused her affections, and for whom she had felt only a passing fancy, sore as she was from Aragorn's rejection. That engagement had not lasted a month after the battle's end, whereupon he left to return to Gondor, to better serve his King.  
  
She did not voice it, but her thoughts were always with Grima, where he might be and what he might be doing. She realised that she could indeed kill him when the Ranger discovered the remains of some strange type of deer, its horns massively misshapen, and found the remains of a cooking fire, and she felt furious that he had taken the time to cook his prey, that he did not know he was being followed. As the trail seemed to stop at that campsite, the party elected to set up camp in the same spot and search the area, as they were perplexed as to what might have become of Wormtongue's tracks, as all the Ranger could find was several more skinned carcasses, and ravaged scrub trees and reed beds. While they waited for the Kingsman to find the trail, Legolas and the Shieldmaiden set up their tents in the very spot that she was certain had harboured Grima some time earlier. As the Ranger could tell by the state of the animal corpses he had found, he told her that it had been six months or more since he had camped here, but that night Eowyn slept soundly, content to lie so near where Grima himself had rested, and felt content in what she was sure was the culmination of her mission.  
  
The next morning Legolas returned and told her that he had found that the river they had followed this far joined the Inland Sea less than a day's journey away, and that he had found signs that might indicate that there were men living nearby. After a little breakfast of Lembas he left once more in search for a settlement. As the Shieldmaiden found herself alone again, as she had for most of the past few days the Ranger and the Elf had searched for Wormtongue's path, she got out her small copper mirror from her pack and regarded her appearance for the first time since leaving the Elven halls of Mirkwood. The sight that greeted her was not a pleasant one. Indeed, she felt she was almost unrecognisable. If, she thought, she was to meet Grima soon, it would not do for him to not recognise her. She threw aside her riding breeches and coarse woollen tunic and took out one of the long, flowing dresses she had worn in Rohan, white as usual, with a silver girdle, and hung it up to loose some of its creases. She also found her cleaning oils, and decided to take advantage of her solitude to bathe in the river, wash her hair, and even to use some of the ashes from the cooking fire to darken her eyelids and stain her lips with berry juice. Now feeling more like herself, she wrung out her still damp hair, braided it and pinned it up out of her was as she began to make a meal for the Ranger and the Elf when they returned from their wanderings. If her companions noticed her new attire, they made no comment upon it. Within the week Legolas returned jubilant, having ascertained that there was indeed a human settlement on the far banks of the inland sea, and Mirghast voiced his belief that Wormtongue's trail led in the same direction. Eowyn had never seen a Sea before, and the sight of such a large body of water took her breath away. The freshness of the water shocked her, as she had expected it to be undrinkable, but it tasted as pure as the waters of Loth lorien, and shimmered iridescently in the sunlight. It took the party nearly two weeks hard riding to circle the Inland sea before they reached a dense forest, its tall, slender trees like none she had ever seen; their leaves dark green, and shaped like needles, the ground underfoot dark, moist and soft. A path worn through the trees after many miles led them to a small village that at first sight looked ruinous and deserted, but there were signs that the strange, blocky houses were being rebuilt, and there was smoke coming from some of the chimneys. As the Shieldmaiden, Ranger and Elf entered the village, they were spotted by an old, haggard woman who accosted them loudly.  
"Get thee away, ye be-whiskered beasts! Get ye gone from Rhun!" she shouted, he voice croaky and hoarse. Eowyn replied;  
"We have travelled far. Does your village have an inn where we might stay?" Eowyn moderated her temper and changed her anger for coldness.  
"Not for the likes of you. We don't want outsiders here!" she croaked, glaring at Eowyn and the others in turn with her pale blue eyes. Several scruffy children had heard the shouting from across the way and come running over to the strangers.  
"Who are they, Grama Grawley?" they asked the old woman, who tried to shoo them away, but failed.  
Eowyn had started when she noted that all the children had jet-black hair on their heads, and not a single hair on their faces. No eyebrows or eyelashes...just like Grima. Her heart thumping in her chest, she addressed the tallest child, who had been staring at her, grinning.  
"Boy, have there been any strange men come here recently?" she said, smiling encouragingly. "Don't you say anything to them, Grizy." The old woman interrupted. The boy looked pleased to have a chance to defy the old woman, and told Eowyn;  
"Only the healer. He's a boring-" Grizy managed to say before the old woman clamped her hand around his mouth and gave him a slap that sent him running away.  
"We don't like your kind," she said furious, "but I sees you ain't gonna go too quick. What are you after? No one comes here now, not that many did before. There's none of your hairy-faces here; we're Erhundai." Eowyn looked to Legolas, unsure of what to say. The elf, understanding, stepped forward and addressed the hag.  
"Good Lady, we seek a place to rest, then before long we will be on our way. We are searching for a criminal, a dangerous man whom we believe passed this way. If you can tell us anything that might help us, we shall be gone all the sooner." He said, his melodious voice seeming to soothe her and the anger left her eyes to be replaced with a resigned, weary look.  
"There is no inn. No point as no one comes here. You can use one of the empty cottages while you're here, but please get gone quickly, and don't talk to the children. I'm gonna tell our men folk that you're only visiting." She said, and shuffled off.  
  
The party soon found an empty dwelling on the outskirts of the tumble-down village and tried to make enquiries, but soon found that these people, the Erhundai, were more reclusive than the Wood Elves could be, and had many a door slammed in their faces when they knocked.  
As Eowyn walked about, she noted how few people there actually were, and these mostly the elders or the children, with those in between either sick or lame, and all resembled Grima, somehow. Maybe this was the land he was from? She searched her memory but could recall no instance of his mentioning his life before joining her Uncle's Court.  
As she pondered this she spotted one of the children she had met earlier that day, watching her from behind an old, broken cart. She waved to him, smiling, and he beckoned her to follow him. He was only a few summers old, she surmised from his height, guessing him to be less than ten. When she rounded the side of the cart she found the boy the old woman had called Grizy waiting for her. "We thought Grama Grawly had you frightened off!" he laughed, "We thought you were gone already!" "Who are you?" asked the other boy, wide eyed. "My name is Eowyn, daughter of Eomund." The Shieldmaiden replied carefully. She was sure these children could tell her if Wormtongue had been here, but was unsure how to get this information from them. In the end, she decided to be direct, and hope that this guileless ploy would work on their innocent minds. "That's a funny name. Mine's Griyzant, and this is my brother Mogram. What did you come here for? It's a boring place. All anyone ever does is build things and grow boring food. We're lucky, 'cos were too little to help."  
"I'm looking for someone. Could you tell me if he came here?"  
"There's only that boring healer came ages ago and there's been no one else, I think." Said Mogram, looking puzzled. Eowyn's suspicions grew. Just one more question should confirm them.  
"Does the healer have and hair...here?" she asked, gesturing to her blonde eyebrows. The boys shook their heads. Their Healer must be Wormtongue. Eowyn asked the boys to play outside the Healer's cottage, and to tell her if he left. She chose a route back through the village that meant the Healer's hut was out of her sight and waited impatiently for the Ranger and the Elf To return from their own enquiries. While she waited she dressed in her white Rohirrim robes and buckled on her sword-belt. It was by her hand that Wormtongue was to die. 


	7. in which our Heroine meets with Destiny

Chapter six  
  
In which our Heroine meets with destiny  
  
The sound of swords being drawn behind you is quite unmistakable, Grima thought. "So you have come to release me...." He said, his voice like the fumes coming from the cauldron he stirred. "I have wondered how long it would take. I thought I would have more time, but isn't that always the way..." he said, thoughtfully. In truth, he had not thought they would find him at all, but he resigned himself to this moment without thought or fear.  
The Elf and the Shieldmaiden exchanged puzzled glances. They had expected a fight of some sort when bringing Grima to justice. Having drawn their weapons they were resolved to bring their quest to its conclusion.  
"Listen not to his pleading, lady, for his tongue was ever his best weapon." said Legolas, but it was incongruous that no pleading was taking place and she took his words as a warning.  
Grima seemed to grow two inches at the mention of the lady and he still stood with his back to them. The only Lady he knew, who would seek him out was Eowyn. His heart leaped in his tortured breast; at least he could look upon her face once more, even if she regarded him with disgust, he was content to die in the light of her presence. "I would plead but not on my own account but for the child four dwellings downhill who needs this potion to survive the night. Send one of your party to check if you can not hear his mother wailing from here." Grima said, his words apathetic and lacking in the resonance Eowyn remembered  
"As for my own fate I have long since accepted it, and I can well imagine what you have in mind, for no punishment can be worse than the pain I now suffer."  
The ranger ignored his own advice in order to express his enmity, till now suppressed.  
"Speak no more, Wormtongue. I hear you are justly named, and fear the spells you may cast with your words." He said, sounding arrogant and distrustful to both Eowyn and Grima's perceptive ears.  
"Please, I seek to harm no one. I plead for the boy who needs this potion. Let me these few minutes to save an innocent child." Eowyn felt so many emotions that she could not consider which were uppermost. Grima sounded sincere, but she could not recall hearing his words otherwise. Her training as a Shieldmaiden came to the fore as she said "Mirghast, please go and check his story. I would never harm an innocent." It seemed to Grima that she put an emphasis upon the word innocent.  
The ranger walked backwards out of the hut never taking his eye off his quarry and called out to Legolas. A shout brought the elf to the door and the speed with which his yew bow was drawn and aimed was still unnerving even though it was anticipated.  
Grima tuned slowly from the cauldron he was tending and his gaze swept the reed-strewn floor to find the hem of Eowyn's gown and drew slowly to her eyes. Without leaving her face he gestured for leave to reach some hanging herbs not far from the hearth where he stood. She nodded for the benefit of the elf who drew level with her. Grima slowly moved and broke the herb into the brew and just as slowly placed two small logs onto the fire.  
The ranger retuned, out of breath. "His story seems to be true, there is a sick child not far from here; but I am sure he must mix lies with the truth."  
Eowyn regarded the figure now facing her, looking at her with a direct, piercing stare she had never before seen in his eyes. It seemed to Eowyn that Grima stood taller than she remembered, except for the distortion of childhood memories that can make a short man seem tall. He wore garments of plain black cloth, and a grey cloak, its hood pulled up, shading his pale face, His features melancholy. She noted that he now stood tall before her, a much-changed man, yet still recognisable as the Grima of her childhood.  
She took a deep breath and began the speech she had devised, her heart twisting in her chest, her breathing laboured; "Grima son of Galmod, known as Wormtongue, I Eowyn, Daughter of Eomund of the house of Eorl, accuse you of Murder, Deceit and Treason and have come to judge you under common law and the law of kings..."  
"I have already accepted that I should be punished and accept the guilt of all that I have done." He said curtly.  
Eowyn was taken aback. She had expected a fight, pleading; some grand defence, but was not ready for what she had just heard.  
"I wish now for the chance to state all my crimes known and unknown, to meet my fate with a lightened heart." He continued, his pale face blank to her gaze, his eyes dull and expressionless.  
"Prey, show some compassion, let me die at peace."  
She looked into his dark, heavy lidded eyes to see if the truth of his words could be read there and found his gaze did not slide away as it had in the past.  
Legolas spoke, eyeing him warily; "Others have died without such peace."  
"Yes and by my hand," Grima agreed, turning his steady gaze to the elf, but he quickly addressed Eowyn again. "The first was the easiest and known to you as Rayfir, son of Draythir." Eowyn thought of the stable boy who had disappeared when she was a child.  
"What foul deed was this? Do you mean the Stable boy? I would not care to know what became of him if he suffered at your hand." She said, horrific images floating before her eyes.  
"His end was quick and as painless as I could give him. I broke his neck while he tended a horse and carted his body to a grave far from Edoras."  
"What could a boy have done to you?" Eowyn replied, confused and sickened.  
"Nothing to me."  
Grima paused to tend his cauldron for a few seconds and returned to his former stance. "There were others along the way... a tortuous way of pain, as has been my life and I welcome my release from it." He continued. "I have suffered a change since I killed Saurman, and I wonder since then how many of my actions were manipulated by him. The irony has not been lost on me, as I once thought of myself as the greatest of the art. I have become to a healer to this village in the hope of making my burden lighter," a sardonic laugh escaped him, "but it seems even when I do good it is for my own benefit."  
"I would know why you killed the boy." said Eowyn tremulously, her voice hardly concealing the shudders that ran through her body. There were tears gathering in Grima's eyes but somehow Eowyn knew they were not for the boy. "To answer that requires the revealing of a great secret, one so great I have spoken it to no man, though some who may have suspected have been sent to their doom." he paused as he needed to compose himself. He continued; "It is difficult to give voice to that which was been buried so deeply, but know this secret was kept from you due to your station and your youth, and like a journey, once embarked upon it is easier to go on than to go back. I would ask you to help me by answering a question in return. When the boy was thought missing did you help to search for him?" he said, clearly knowing the answer.  
"No, as I was abed with an ankle injury; you know that because you tended it for me."  
"So I did," he said, his eyes finding hers once more. "If the bone had not mended properly it would have caused you to limp for the rest to your life. It took all my healing skills to ensure you now walk without fault." "That was the fault of my lack of riding ability. My uncle was sure I was too young to ride and blamed himself for the error of it." "The boy had put a bur under the saddle. I found it myself and with these very ears I heard him laugh about it. I could not let him live...I was overcome." Grima said sadly. Eowyn looked at him, shocked. "He did not deserve to die for it!" she said, her confusion rising. "Still you do not see." Grima sighed, and sank to his knees in front of her. "I have watched over you all your life. It was I who persuaded your uncle to give you your first horse. When he gave it to you was it not I who held the bridle and then lifted you to the saddle? Your first swords were brought from Gondor but you never guessed who was sent for them? I bought from the finest sword master in Gondor and the price was far beyond what your uncle had given me for them." Eowyn was drawn through time and her mind raced to all the events in her life in which Grima had been in the background and found a new enlightenment there, but another part of her said it couldn't be true; it must be a well prepared ruse designed to confuse her. Perhaps she should have taken the Ranger's advice and not allowed him to speak. She became aware that Legolas still had his bow at full draw and although she knew he would not tire easily she yet still gestured for him to relax. "Do you mean to imply that I am the cause of your evil deeds?" she said, incredulously. "Not the cause, gracious lady, but the reason. I said I was overcome, but not with hatred, but with love. A love that had no chance of fruition. A love with no chance of its ever being returned. You, a lady of a noble house, and I, a mere servant. I had to rise if ever I was to have a chance to be worthy of your liking. And it was this ambition, which I now see, was my downfall. I thought I kept my secret safe, but there are those of power who make it their business to learn of many things, and can keep their secrets closer. "Saurman was my chance and my downfall. In order to have you I had to betray your family and Saurman convinced me it could be done. So desolate was my heart that I clung to any possibility of the fruition of my dreams. Saurman had promised me my land to rule and a queen to sit by my side whose eyes would only look upon me with love... So much he said was in his power to give. "I see the lie of it now, for Saurman was the greatest of deceivers. But I became an instrument of evil and I have felt the knife of hope twist within me." Grima was finished. He sank to his knees and the tears seen before fell down his face in unheeded rivulets. "I slit his throat and ended all hope of ever possessing you. I saw what I had become in that one instant and ran from it. I have hated myself more than you could ever hate me. Release me, I beg you, for I am done." He bent his head and offered his neck to her sword.  
  
Eowyn looked askance at the man bent so vulnerable before her ready blade. He had admitted his crimes, yet why did she hesitate? She stood for some minutes, silent and still before speaking to the Elf by her side.  
"I...I must go out. I need to be alone. Watch him 'till I return." She said, turning from Grima to leave, but hearing his voice once again before reaching the door.  
"My Lady," he said with a tearful sigh, his eyes not leaving the floor, "Please take this medicine to Diagon, who even now lays suffering for want of it." Grima made no attempt to move, and the Ranger stirred to fill a bowl with the green, strangely scented liquid and handed it to the silent Shieldmaiden, who left without a sound.  
  
Eowyn found the boy with little trouble. She handed his mother the bowl and watched as she helped him drink it before falling asleep. He was pale and ashen, his skin waxy and his limbs weak. Turning from the tearful scene she wandered into the strange forest that surrounded the village, making her way down to the water's edge, to ponder Wormtongue's words. As she sat on a grassy bank she watched strange birds approach and drink of the water, ignoring her presence. She looked unseeing as the antics of several small furry creatures as they ran up and down the branches of the needle-trees. Eowyn had never seen a Sea before. Her experience had been limited to plains and woodlands, and here she felt out of her depth in such unfamiliar surroundings. As she watched the sun's reflection on the water, she wished she could wade out into it, let it swallow her, wash over her and through her body, cleansing her mind of the thoughts that she had came here to think..  
  
As she watched the water, she saw a man, a Rhunlander, sail his boat out onto the water, propelling the strange, animal skin craft with a long pole that became wider at each end. She continued to watch as the man stood up carefully, seemingly secure in his footing despite the unstable surface supporting and uncoiled from his belt what looked like a whip. He gazed into the water for a moment, as if he was waiting for the water to calm, and then cracked his whip down into the water, and as it flew back, a silver fish was flung into the Fisherman's boat. He repeated this twice more, before seeming happy with his catch and propelled his boat to the shore, not far from where Eowyn sat, trying to straighten her muddled thoughts. As the man approached, he loked her up and down, and it seemed to Eowyn that he intended to speak to her, as he sat down not far from her pearch on a rock overhanging the little shore.  
"You would be one of the bearded strangers." He said. It was a statement, not a question, and so Eowyn nodded in affirmation but made no reply, fearing that he was about to tell her to leave, as Grama Grawley had done the day before.  
"They call me Mogray." He continued, his speech halted and hesitant. "You here for our Grimaulkin, I know. Is that why you're crying?" he said intrusively. Eowyn, startled, put a hand to her cheek. It seemed her teers had come unnoticed, and she brushed them away with her sleeve.  
"What do you know of him?" she asked, curious as to the connection between this rough fisherman and the former Councillor.  
"What everyone else knows of him? I knew his mother, Greymae, and that none now stand for his mother's line except Grawly. She's his aunt, so to speak. And that he came back to us when we needed him, for all the time he'd been away in the wide lands and done some bad things, by the look of him. I knew when he came back that something had broken him."  
"Then this land is his home?" Eowyn questioned the man once more.  
"Aye. The witch's son come back to his homeland, to be the saving of my brother's Son when he was green with ague. I was surprised he lasted so long out there, among the Hairy Faced Devils. No offence meant, girl, if you be set to take some." He regarded her sourly, as if contemplating what she would look like without eyebrows. "Have you come for him, Lass? Can you not see fit to leave him here with his people?" he asked, suddenly earnest.  
"I am not sure. I need to think." The sun had gone down by the time she returned to the village, to Grima.  
  
It seemed the Elf and the Ranger had allowed him to move from his place on the floor and he had filled several clay bottles with the medicine he had brewed, and now sat with Mirghast by his fire, Legolas, wary of any attempt he might make to escape, stood by the door. As she entered the room the Ranger and the Elf stood up, and Grima sank once more to the floor his hands clasped in front of him, trembling slightly. Eowyn stood before him.  
"I want to talk with you, Grima. Alone."  
"But my Lady!" Legolas interrupted, "He'll surely kill you!" Eowyn silenced him with an imperious wave of her hand.  
"Will you, Grima?" she asked, her eyes cold and dark as she watched him.  
"Never." He whispered, breathily, looking only at the hem of her robe.  
"Please Legolas, Mirghast; leave us alone. I will come to you by morning."  
"And if I am right and he kills you as soon as he has the chance?" said Legolas, frustrated. "Then kill him." She said.  
  
Why am I not dead? Grima thought, his mind racing. What could she want to talk to me about? He knelt on the reed-strewn floor, not daring to move. True, she had put her sword back in its scabbard, but he knew how quick she was at drawing it. He traced her steps to the chair by the fire, heard her sit down upon it.  
"Come, sit with me. How am I to talk with you if you will not come near me?" she said, her words cool, unemotional. Grima approached apprehensively, taking the other chair. He could not look at her face. It was too painful. For all her remembered beauty, in the flesh, now...she was ethereal. Her moonlight hair and alabaster skin seemed to glow, reflecting the firelight in shades of yellow and gold. He could not look at her face...he felt sure she would kill him with her eyes if he dared.  
"Grima..." she said, speaking in a whisper. "Why...?"  
"For you..." He felt there was no more he could say. For once the words that had served him so well in the past were ashes on his tongue. He felt her sigh, and then trembled, as the sigh became a sob. He felt his own tears run then, burning his flesh with their heat, his muscles convulsing as he fought the instinct to hold her close, to comfort her, dry her tears...  
Eowyn wept, inconsolably, feeling a pain in her heart more desperate than the loneliness that consumed her. This man had committed atrocities, murders, and had helped bring about untold carnage...for her. Such strength of passion he must hide, such obsession. Did he still feel this way? She did not know, but couldn't bring herself to ask. All at once she grew angry with herself. Had she come all this way just to let him see her weakness? He must think her pitiful...he could not even meet her eyes.  
"Look at me, Grima! Does it hurt you to see me like this?" she whispered. He had heard her. He knelt at her feet and kissed the hem of her robe before looking into her eyes, his own red and streaming with the pain in his heart.  
"More than all the torture I have ever endured." He replied. "I wish it were in my power to heal your pain, but I am a pathetic worm, not worthy of looking at your dazzling face, knowing I have caused you this misery."  
"Do you love me still, Grima? Or am I truly mad?" she shivered.  
"More than life itself. Will my death end your tears? I welcome it from your hand." He said truthfully, his gaze never leaving her eyes, the icy pools that had thawed, like snowmelt flowing down her cheeks. He wished he could drown in those tears.  
Eowyn had never felt anything as strong as the pain she felt now.  
"I cannot kill you." She whispered to the astonished Grima, and held out her hands to him, unsure of what she needed to do to stop the crushing feeling that stole her breath and made her tremble. As Grima took her cold hands in his own the contact shattered her and she fell to the floor beside him, sobbing, for all her loneliness, her dreams and her feelings that she had not the courage to share, and he broke down and gathered her to him, pulling her close.  
  
It seemed he held her for an age, yet he felt light and strong still. She had cried herself to sleep as he held her, in his embrace as in his heart, and lay there still. Grima had no desire to move, ever again if need be, just to stay this close to her, this one time. He breathed in her sunlit scent, wanting to absorb her very being, to have her with him always. She seemed at peace now. He had been concerned lest her sleep be troubled, but she lay quiet as a child in his arms. He felt light, as if he had been filled with sweet air, and there was a lightless in his heart that he had not felt for many years. Grima was content. It was with sorrow that he looked out of his window and saw that it was already first light, and that he had precious few hours left to hold his Love before she must awake and return to her companions, who were without question concerned for her safety alone with him.  
As the first rays of sunlight found their way into the room, Eowyn stirred. The first person you see after an enchanted sleep...Grima mused, wishing he knew how to cast such a spell. She knew he loved her. And now she would leave him once more, to return to her citadel where doubtless some foreign lord awaited her, to woo her, love her and give her joy in a thousand ways he could not. As she awoke he sighed, a soft, soothing sound, as her eyes found his and she became aware of where she had lain.  
"Grima..." she whispered his name, and he wanted to remember forever how his name sounded on her lips in that yielding, breathy way.  
"You should have woken me." she said, her voice slowly shedding the restfulness of sleep.  
"I dared not." He said, wishing he could tell her how he felt when she lay in his embrace, but knowing that he must not.  
"Have I slept long?" She asked, sitting up.  
"A hundred years." He joked, feeling happier than he had ever felt. Eowyn laughed, a tinkling sound he and thought never to hear again...her laugh was an unconscious balm to his wounded heart.  
"I have to go..." she said, softly.  
"I know. They will be waiting..." Eowyn felt a thousand words unspoken become one breath, and she stood up, smiled at Grima, his heart skipping a beat, and left without looking back. 


	8. in which our Heroine finds what her Hear...

Chapter seven  
  
In which our Heroine finds what her heart seeks  
  
Eowyn left Grima with a joyful heart. She felt at peace at last, all traces of her inner turmoil had been cleansed from her mind and she smiled, feeling her cold heart thawing in the presence of Grima's love for her. She met Legolas not far from Grima's Hut and felt her feelings struggle to be told to the unbelieving and dumbfounded Elf. Grima loved her, her heart sang, and she was desperate to continue their talk as soon as she could get back to him. When Mirghast appeared she told him that she now understood Grima's reasons and that she felt he deserved to live and informed the Kingsman that he was to go on to Edoras and tell her brother that she was still alive. "But are you not returning with us, my Lady? You have completed your mission, have you not?" he said, shocked. "Not for a while at least. Legolas shall remain here with me, for my protection. I intend to talk with Grima more extensively. That is all you need know." She said haughtily. "I'm sure my Brother will pay you handsomely for your service to me upon your arrival at Edoras. Be sure to tell him that I am thinking of him." She said, in her coldest, stiffest manner, and left to return to Grima.  
  
When she returned to the hut, Grima was nowhere to be found-his door left open and his fire extinguished. She found his grey cloak, flung carelessly on his bed, but no sign of where he had gone. She searched the village, but no one had yet awoken except the strange birds that perched on the roofs of the cottages, eyeing her with predatory animal menace. She found the house where the child Daigon rested, and knocked quietly upon the door, in case the inhabitants were still abed. The woman she had met the day before answered the door, and Eowyn was thankful, as she could see from the Woman's smile that the boy had indeed survived the night.  
"You've come from Grimaulkin, haven't you? Do you want to see my boy? He fairs well this morning, as Grimaulkin promised. He is a wonder...come in! come in!" she said effusively. Eowyn followerd her to the child's bedside, where he was sitting up, drinking a bowl of milk, his colour returned and his eyes bright.  
"Grimaulkin's Lady had come to see how better you are, my boy. Say thank you to her now." The woman told him.  
  
Eowyn had not heard Grima being called by this name before, and so the remark about her being "His Lady" slipped by her, but was soon laughing when the little boy talked to her.  
"Thank you for bringing my medicine, Lady." He said, his childish voice lilting and sweet, "Grimaulkin said I was gonna grow up to be big and strong, and protect the whole village! Do you think so,?" he said wide- eyed, looking to her for assurance. Eowyn had always felt comfortable around children, and felt nothing to hinder her response to this pretty, engaging boy-child.  
"I'm sure you will, Daigon. If you practice hard and train every day, I think you'll be strong enough to defend everyone in the village." She said, smiling unrestrainedly. The boy reminded her of Grima very much, she noticed, with his hairless face and long dark hair. He also had those peculiar, white and grey eyes that had gazed into hers so many times. She patted his head and left soon after, continuing her hunt for Grima. She had been chasing him so long now, she thought to herself that she would not give up now.  
  
By midday she had wandered into the forest of needles, weaving through the trees in her restless search. Soon she came upon the shore where she had rested the day before; pondering the effects that Grima had had upon her life, and had made her decision that he should be allowed to live. It was there that she found him. He stood gazing out to sea, his back to her; seemingly deep in contemplation, for he neither moved nor made a sound. He stood, wearing a course linen tunic and soft buckskin leggings, tucked into high leather boots, his hair so long and dark, flowing like a tangled river to his waist. His shoulders were much broader than she remembered, no longer bent and hunched, he looked lithe and strong. The wind blew cold from the inky waters before him, and she caught the scent of earth and leaves, of growing things and spring.  
"What are you doing?" Eowyn said, hesitatingly, breaking the silence that lay before her, and announcing her presence to the man she had been compelled to seek, her journey taking more than two years, and she felt, nearing its end.  
"I had hoped to avoid seeing you leave." He said, his voice sounding hoarse, like he had been crying again.  
"I had not thought to leave for a time yet. Does my presence upset you? She asked puzzled. She had been under the impression that he had wanted her to stay; had she been so mistaken? It would not surprise her. Human emotions, she had always felt, were beyond her comprehension. Yet he had told her that he loved her....  
  
Eowyn approached Grima, who had not moved, and reached out to place her hand upon his shoulder. He trembled at her touch, like a frightened animal.  
"Do you want me to leave you?" she asked, cursing that she sounded so unlike herself, pitiful and vulnerable. Grima Turned to face her slowly. His expression was strange, half hope, half fear, and his eyes were red; he had indeed been crying.  
"I would not keep you from whoever holds your heart. I want you to be happy, and that means you should forget me. I am not worthy of your presence, fair one."  
"No one holds my heart. Why should they? It is a cold, wretched thing. I am frozen, incapable of feeling any tender emotion." She said, feeling the truth of her words and casting her eyes to the ground. Grima stepped closer, till she could hear his hesitant breath, and his scent, that made her think of the cold wind, and the strange smell of the needle-trees that surrounded them. He smelt feral, like a predatory animal. He reached out and gently stroked her cheek, as he had done many years before. "Then you are alone." He whispered. "Do you still roam the golden halls of Edoras, like a restless spirit? Is there no one to love you?" he asked, his words like a sigh upon her ears, making her shiver. "There is no one..." she replied, "no one but you..." it was the truth of these words that emboldened her, and her feelings, her careful control broke, and she held herself out to him, welcoming his embrace and the strange, unknown comfort it had brought her before, and could bring her now.  
"I do love you, my beautiful, enchanting Eowyn, my fearless Shieldmaiden, my Princess..." he whispered, realising that nothing now prevented him from showering her with the endearments he had for years longed to tell her, as he dared at last to claim from her a tender, fleeting kiss. This momentary touch from his velvet-soft lips made her heart beat faster than it had ever, on any battlefield, and she could not resist the compulsion to cleave to him, taking another kiss from him as he held her, astounded at her actions, having never thought such feelings possible. Eowyn felt a tremulous realisation swell within her. This was the only man who could thaw her heart, the only man who knew her for what she was, and loved her so intensely it was tangible in the air around them. His eyes promised unwavering devotion, and the passion of love unrequited.  
"I love you, Grima...." She whispered, surrendering to her fate, her destiny, and what she knew her heart craved more than life itself. A fire in her heart melting her ice as well as her composure, she whispered; "I do love you..." It seemed to Eowyn that as she said these words, the pain she had carried for all these years, the loneliness and the sorrow, seemed to melt away at the tremulous, tearful meeting of their two bruised hearts, and their realisation that neither could be without the other half of their souls for ever after.  
  
THE END  
  
Author's notes.  
  
What a corny ending!  
  
Bad bad bad...*Slaps self*. I am destined for Mills and Boon....*Sigh*  
  
This fic has been re-written, with the help of my co-writer and proof reader, Daedalus_Drowning, who writes like I wish I could.  
  
I wish to thank all my reviewers, especially my best and most helpful critic, Proserpina- I look forward to your comments. Also, the Livejournal communities I have enjoyed writing to; Leechcraft, Grimafans, Yummy_Grima and Dourifites. I have been influenced by almost all the Grimafics I have found, and naming them here would take to long.  
  
I have found that the music I have listened to over the course of my writing this fic have influenced it immensely. If you are inclined to know what they are, this is the list;  
  
Grima; Strange and beautiful-Aqualung (ALL GRIMAFANS! Listen to this song!) Wherever you may go- The Calling. Love never dies 1, 2 and 3- Apoptygma Bezerk. Trust you-Mesh  
  
Eowyn; Paint it black-Inkkubus Sukkubus (sp?) She's on the phone-St.Ettiene Martha's Harbour (Don't know the artist) Everything by the Cocteau Twins  
  
Both: Roxette-Church of your heart (The male voice in Roxette sounds like Grima! Its his voice, I swear!) 


End file.
